


to bite the hand (and kiss the lips)

by goodbi_bitch



Series: judaskissnatural [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner, Judas Kiss - Freeform, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), but horny this time like off the charts horny, hays code sex, judaskissnatural, let's be honest here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29918037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbi_bitch/pseuds/goodbi_bitch
Summary: Dean slams his head back into Cas’s face. He drives his knee into the other man’s stomach. Every hit is like a song. It sings to Dean a perfect melody. The punches, a steady percussion, and Cas’s grunts of pain, the pretty lyrics. He finds that he quite likes the tune.a different, bloodier version of the infamous prisoner judas kiss fic
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: judaskissnatural [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200074
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	to bite the hand (and kiss the lips)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this version of the ending originally and decided the sweet kiss ending was more of a gut punch so i scrapped this. but i got brainworms tonight and decided to do the original ending with like one or two tweaks to the middle. anyway, vibe it out i guess.
> 
> also, this is more or less one of cas's weird horny fantasies. "i will fight with you or die with you or perhaps die by your hand"

“You killed him,” Cas says, kneeling beside the Stein boy. The boy couldn’t have been older than 20. Dean killed a child.

“I took down a monster,” Dean says with the ease and confidence of a man who believes what he’s saying. He clicks the safety of his Colt on and goes to tuck it into the wait and of his jeans. “‘Cause, that’s what I do. And I will continue to do that until—“

“Until you become the monster,” Cas cuts him off as he rises off the floor. 

Dean looks at him with hard eyes. If that’s what Cas really thinks, then Dean doesn’t need him around. “You can go now, Cas.”

“No. I can’t. Because I’m your friend,” Cas implores Dean to understand. He can’t leave. No force on this Earth that would be able to take Castiel from Dean at this moment. It’s Dean’s hour of need. Cas would fight tooth and nail to stay by Dean’s side. He will not leave Dean to let him succumb to the Mark. 

“Really?” Dean says turning back to Cas and walking towards him. Venom drips from Dean’s tongue. “Then, let me ask you something. You screw over all your friends?”

“Sam and I were trying to cure you,” Cas is defensive, feeding off Dean’s anger. “We still are.”

“Like hell,” Dean bites. 

“We can read the book now.” There’s hope now.

“Oh, so what? You  _ might _ find a spell that  _ might _ take this crap off my arm.” Cas’s eyes dart around the floor as if it’ll give him the words to make Dean see the hope, see the light. It might be a one in a million chance, but there’s still the one. One is all they need. Dean doesn’t give him the opportunity to speak, “Even if you do, what’s it gonna cost? ‘Cause magic like that does not come free. No, it comes with a price that you pay in blood. So, thanks, but I’m good.” 

Dean can’t let anyone pay the price for his choice. Nothing good can come from the Book of the Damned. He would rather carry this curse until the end of time than let anyone he loves pay whatever the book demands. 

They’ve already lost Charlie because of this ridiculous quest. That thought cuts Dean to the core. Charlie didn’t deserve the end she got. Slaughtered, butchered, cut, drained, and left in a motel bathtub like she was something dirty and disgusting. Charlie was beautiful, kind, optimistic, intelligent, loving, funny, unique, passionate. She deserved better. She deserved a good ending, something fitting how special she was. She should’ve gotten to have a life. A real life. A life where she didn’t have to run anymore. A life where she didn’t have to fight. She should’ve had a house and a good job and a good woman. It should’ve been something gentle with soft touches and serine smiles. If it weren’t for Sam and Cas’s half-cocked plan to save Dean, she would’ve had it. If they had just listened. But no, they ignored Dean’s warnings, dooming him to play the role of Cassandra in their greek tragedy. 

The idea that anything along the same vein could happen to Sam or Cas was enough for Dean to dismiss the idea completely. Perhaps, it’s all fear and love, but somewhere in Dean’s head it gets picked at and twisted until it’s rage. There’s a part of him that wants to take Cas’s face in his hands, look into his deep blue eyes, and explain why he can’t lose him, how it would crush Dean to lose him, how he would suffer for eternity just to keep Cas alive and safe. It's drowned out by the part of him that howls and thrashes and screams. The anger burns everything else out of him. He can’t even see the urges to do anything else other than yell, fight, and kill. Dean is a rabid dog gnashing its teeth. He will bite the hand that feeds him.

Dean turns back on Castiel again, turning to leave again.

“No,” Cas’s voice is full of anger now. He reaches out and grabs Dean by the shoulder. He won't let him leave now. He can’t. Dean looks down at the hand on his shoulder. “You’re not. Maybe you could fight the Mark for years, maybe centuries like Cain did, but you cannot fight it forever. And when you finally turn, and you will turn, Sam and everyone you know, everyone you love they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I am the one who will have to watch you murder the world. So if there’s even a small chance, that we can save you. I won’t let you walk out of this room.”

There it is. The crux of the issue. Castiel cannot leave Dean. He rebelled against heaven for him. He became a twisted god for him. He broke through Naomi’s conditioning for him. Everything Castiel has done since he pulled Dean out of hell has been for him; he can’t stop now. He can’t stop ever. If Dean lets the Mark overtake him, not only would Cas be powerless to stop his endless bloodshed, he would never harm Dean. He would stand by and watch the carnage, incapable to do anything else. That’s not the future he wants for Dean. He wants Dean to be happy and safe. He wants Dean free of violence, anger, and pain. This is Castiel’s last chance to save Dean. He would die before he lets it pass him by. 

“Oh, you think you have a choice,” Dean challenges. 

“I think the Mark is changing you,” Castiel declares with as much angelic righteousness as he can. 

“You’re wrong,” Dean contends. 

“Am I? ‘Cause the Dean Winchester I know would never have murdered that kid,” Cas tries once again to reason with Dean. It may all be in vain, but Cas can’t rest until he’s done everything he can.

Castiel has seen Deal’s soul. He knows him inside and out. He knows him in a way no other can. He knows Dean is kind, gentle, selfless, loving. He knows Dean wouldn’t murder a boy who was barely more than a child. 

Dean looks back at the boy’s body. It’s a boy, a boy who Dean killed. Maybe, once upon a time, that would’ve made Dean pause. Now, it doesn’t even register. He avenged Charlie. He wiped out every last Stein. Nothing else matters. He feels no remorse. He is judge, jury, and executioner. His justice has been carried out. 

Still, he feels a twinge. An unnamed, unexamined emotion fights to make its way to the surface. Saving people. That’s what all the killing is supposed to be about. Dean is justice. Dean is protection. He may be a sword, but the sword is carried by a knight. He has a righteous mission. Is this righteous?

Dean deflects, “Yeah, well, that Dean’s always been kind of a dick.” 

Dean moves to leave again. Cas stops him with a hand to his shoulder. He grips the same place he did when he raised Dean from hell a short lifetime ago. This is it: Cas’s last stand.

“Dean. I don’t wanna have to hurt you,” Cas says desperately. It’s a truth wrapped in a lie.

There it is. There’s the challenge. Cas threw down the gauntlet. It’s only fair that Dean should pick it up. 

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” Dean says threateningly. There’s a dangerous edge to his voice. Deadly confidence twists around his words like a snake ready to strike.

He strikes. He grips Cas’s arm and twists until he hears pop and Cas’s hand is removed from his shoulder. Before Cas can have the chance to react, Dean’s fist connects with his jaw. Cas doesn’t falter. He ignores the pain and the blood in his mouth. He grips Dean’s right shoulder with his other hand.

“Dean,” Cas grits out.  _ Let him know what it means _ , he unconsciously prays to a higher power that will never answer,  _ let him hear everything I can’t say _ . 

Dean throws punches at Cas’s face and torso. He lets the rage consume him. He lets the Mark whisper hateful, violent things to him. He listens. Cas blocks his blows, but never once hits back. Dean gets a grip on the angel. He uses the leverage to throw Cas behind him. The angel slides into the pile of books.

Looking battered but undeterred, Castiel rises to his feet. Dean turns away, again, and begins to walk away, again.

“Dean,” Cas says his name again, like that one word, Dean’s name means something. Like it means everything. “Stop.”

_ Stop fighting me. Stop resisting. Stop arguing. Stop getting angry. Stop lashing out. Stop. Stop and let me help. _ Cas tries to say it all in that one word. He says it so kindly, almost gently. His voice is rough with emotion. A trail of blood escapes his mouth. He hurts in every way one can hurt. Still, he doesn’t let it change the way he says it. It’s tender and understanding. He says it like he’d take Dean’s hand in his and lead him back to the light. It’s altruistic when Dean has been nothing but cruel. Dean is harsh, but Castiel forgives it all with that one simple  _ stop _ . 

_ No _ . That's Dean’s reply. How dare Cas ask him to stop when he won’t. Dean can’t stop fighting if Cas won’t stop trying to cure him.

Dean walks back to Castiel and hits him in the face again. Cas gains momentum and wraps his arms around Dean while turning him so his back is to the angel’s chest. He only wants to subdue him, not hurt him. Dean slams his head back into Cas’s face. He drives his knee into the other man’s stomach. Every hit is like a song. It sings to Dean a perfect melody. The punches, a steady percussion, and Cas’s grunts of pain, the pretty lyrics. He finds that he quite likes the tune.

Cas doubles over. Dean’s knee in his gut forcing the action. Dean uses it to get two hands fisted into the trenchcoat. He throws the angel into a table that’s been shoved into the corner of the room.

Dean follows. He can’t stop himself from following. He wants to make the angel sing again. Hands clenching the trenchcoat again, he uses all his strength to smash Cas’s face into the table. The song builds and builds and builds and builds. A crescendo that feels like heroin in Dean’s veins. Every note is a hit. Every pretty little gasp of pain from Cas’s lips is a hit. Dean wants more, needs more. He feels the rage rise within himself. It bubbles over each time he slams his friend into the hard wood. Dean slips further and further beneath the rising ocean of anger. He sinks as he tosses Cas face-first onto the floor.

Dean is lost in the madness of the Mark of Cain. There is no more joy, no more compassion, no more love. There is only violence; the insatiable thirst for blood.

Dean flips Cas onto his back. The angel goes easy. Dean beat all the fight out of him. The hunter reaches into Cas’s sleeve where the angel blade materializes. He takes the blade. Dean’s thighs bracket Cas’s waist. He claps Castiel’s tie with his left hand and raises the angel blade with his right. He’s in position to kill. Dean holds it for a moment and breathes. Cas’s hand latches onto Dean’s wrist. 

Blood is splattered on Castiel’s face. He feels weakened and defeated down to his bones, but it’s not over. It won’t be over until there’s not a trace of him left on earth. He holds Dean’s wrist like he would hold his soul or cup his cheek. He tries to let his love seep through his fingertips. Maybe if it makes its way into Dean’s skin, into his bloodstream it can chase out the Mark.

Pain makes its way to the front of Castiel’s consciousness. He groans. 

“Dean. Please.” Blood bubbles out of Cas’s mouth.

The please is what catches Dean’s attention. The anger made him immune to the way Cas says his name. He doesn’t care if Castiel says his name reverently, imploringly, forcefully, lovingly. What’s in a name, anyway?  _ But the please _ . Dean has an angel underneath him begging. He’s just a man. A fragile human man. Yet, he has a celestial being trapped under his thighs. Angels are beings of pure energy and infinitesimal power, and Dean pinned one on his back. That fact strokes his ego in a way it shouldn’t. Pride. There’s a reason it brought about the fall of the brightest angel. It’s intoxicating. It gets Dean drunk. There is unholy power in the way he has Cas. He wants more of it. He wants to drink it.

Dean leans forward until his face is mere inches from Castiel's. Cas can count the individual freckles that decorate the bridge of his nose. He can pinpoint each shade of green in Dean’s eyes. Even covered in blood and with this disease, he’s so beautiful. Breathtaking. Cas, not for the first time, is thankful he has no biological need to breathe. Surely, he would’ve died from asphyxiation a long time ago. 

Cas doesn’t know why, but his please made Dean stop. He would repeat that one little word over and over until the end of time if it makes Dean stop. He would whisper it in Dean’s ear, scream it from the rooftops, say it however Dean wants if that’s all it takes to make Dean stop. He will plead and plead to Dean safely by his side.

Dean likes looking down on Cas from this position. Oh, how intoxicating it is. He made Cas beg. He made an angel beg. An angel can command and ask and argue. How many have made an angel beg? How many have made Cas beg? Dean hopes he’s the only one. He wants to be the only one who’s ever had Cas like this: pinned to the floor and begging. Blood drips from Castiel’s lips. Dean put it there. He overpowered one of the most powerful creatures in the world. There, in Cas’s blood, in undeniable proof. 

Dean leans down farther. His lips just barely touching Cas’s. Cas doesn’t move. Neither does Dean. He wants to hear it again.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice is hardly above a whisper, but still it’s an order. He lets his eyes drift closed at the dizzying amount of power he holds in the moment.

“Dean,” Cas answers. His voice is so breathless. Intoxicating. 

“Say it again,” Dean commands.

“Please,” Cas obeys.  _ Perfect _ . 

Dean closes the last remaining space between them. He will drink the angel’s pleads. He will consume all the power and devotion, every last drop until he’s drunk on it forever. A kiss to quench his thirst.

Cas feels like flying as his lips move against Dean’s. Every question he’s ever asked is answered by Dean’s lips against his. The world stops turning or it spins faster on its axis. Cas can’t be sure, but he’s sure this simple act has changed the Earth on a cosmic level.

One hand still on Cas’s tie and the other still on the angel blade, Dean tightens his grip on both to brace himself against the onslaught of feeling. He groans at the taste of Cas’s blood against his lips. Cas opens against him so beautifully and Dean chases the taste. Lips pressing together and tongues sliding against each other. Everything so hot, wet, and perfect. He drinks his fill of Castiel. He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left. No more intoxicating, dizzying power to suck out of the angel. 

Dean pulls away and sits back on his heels. Cas’s eyes are glazed over. His tongue traces his bottom lip where Dean had bitten and sucked. What a pretty picture that makes. Dean’s stated now. 

He raises his right hand, fingers still wrapped around the hilt of the angel blade. With blinding speed, he drives the blade into Castiel’s heart. He sees disbelief, failure, and betrayal make their way through those pretty, pretty blue eyes before life leaves them entirely. The brilliant blue-white light of Cas’s grace shines out of his eyes and mouth. The mangled and broken imprint of his wings sears into the floor. 

Dean leaves the angel blade impaled in the heart of his former friend, rises to his feet, and finally leaves the Bunker.

He still feels drunk on power. How kind of his friend to give him a parting gift.

**Author's Note:**

> forgive me father for i have sinned. on like many levels.


End file.
